


Something Close to Delight

by MrsSaxon



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, Catacombs porn, Hannibal POV, M/M, Oral Sex, Sub!Hannibal, The reunion that should have been, blowjobs in the dark, dom!will, let's just be honest, what REALLY happened in Primavera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsSaxon/pseuds/MrsSaxon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hannibal realized there was fear tempering his anticipation. Just what he was afraid of he couldn’t say; Will was looking for him, Will wanted to see him, he had no reason to fear rejection. Still..."</p><p>Will comes looking for Hannibal. Neither of them are sure what's going to happen now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Will had come. He’d found his broken heart, like he knew he would, he must. He hadn’t even made him wait that long.

Hannibal had staked out his preferred chapel overlooking the altar and his bloody tribute. It took Will merely a day to reach him; he must have been on his trail already. Although, he had left a fairly obvious sign, he thought. It was gratifying to imagine Will had snapped to attention at the splashy headline and snatched the first ticket to Italy, but Hannibal doubted he had that kind of pull on Will. No, Will was the fisherman. He himself was ill-suited to the task of reeling in a catch that fought the hook and resented the bait. This was less like bait than breadcrumbs; a fleeing trail back to him, if Will chose to follow it. And, evidently, Will had.

He didn’t know how he would feel seeing Will again, only knew that he needed to. Will no more than stepped across the threshold and he took his breath away. Ignorant of his presence almost as the first day they met, and still Will in his field of vision was enough to make him weak in the knees and root him to the spot in paradoxical harmony, that he might collapse where he stood and never move again.

Hannibal scarcely felt he breathed. Will appeared only once while the polizia muddled about the scene, infringing on its intimacy, quite rudely, but Hannibal could feel him waiting, out of sight, biding his time for his chance to truly see what he had done. Hannibal felt sure he’d know if Will left; his presence like an electrical field, emitting a charge strong enough Hannibal could feel it down to his bones. Perhaps that was why he found himself unable to move, even to properly conceal himself. Electrocution. Just one of the many ways Will tore him apart down to his atoms and fused him back together.

For once in his life, Hannibal wondered if he could stand to wait. As the hours drew on, marked only by his infrequent sips of water and the dissipation of detectives, the hunger within him ignited, the long-familiar ravening for Will, because of Will. He had not his distractions any more. He had not his games or projects or his beloved person suit. It had been ripped off him and he had not yet grown another one, still naked and raw and beginning to scar. He could feel only the agony in perpetuity. He could think only of the reality of Will, his wholeness, his nearness, his existence. Oh, that existence. He had paid dearly to sear Will’s existence onto his and now he questioned: was it worth it? Yes. Forever yes. There was no point even asking. He was damaged irrevocable and he didn’t care.

Now, at last, with only dim candle light and yellow tape to frame his tableau, at last Will emerged again. The detective handed him the folder and walked away, rightly understanding this to be a private matter. Will had already begun to consider it long since; there was no surprise in his features or his steady, profiler’s gaze as he took in the wretched valentine. He wore his glasses still, though, Hannibal was saddened to realize. Will was, perhaps, too sore himself to allow the closeness which had proven so nearly fatal to the both of them.

Will spent scant minutes on the files and photos and Hannibal almost could have wished Jack and the FBI were leading this investigation, if only so Will could be as close to this as he deserved to be. He had left that heart for him and no one else. He gave a sigh of pity, inaudible, thinking how Will ought to have been given the chance to lay his hands on it, to stand up close to it. He would feel every rip and tear of agony in it, he would hear his labored breathing, smell his misery. Will would know every inch and second of his life since they had parted. Will would know anyway; it was just so much more impersonal from a photo. Rude.

Hannibal watched his eyes close and his head tilt back, the folder gently slipping from his limp grasp. Will was finding him now. Inadvertently, he closed his eyes and thought of calling out to him, mentally, before reluctantly realizing how ridiculous that was. He opened his eyes again and did not think his name aloud to Will. Will could not hear him.

Imagination was a burden felt by none more so than Will. It might have been a blessing after all that the polizia had taken his monstrous, beautiful creation before Will could get to it. Watching Will pant and wipe his eyes, as if awakened from a nightmare, he longed to know what Will had seen, what he had known and felt. But it was a selfish longing, to know what Will thought of _him_. The idle curiosity in Will that had started him down this path was all but burnt out now. He could hardly remember the man who had thought Will might make an interesting experiment. His head swam, dizzy, to think that he could _ever_ have regarded Will so little, so flippantly. Broken now, so broken indeed. He did not care.

“I do feel closer to Hannibal here,” Will’s voice, ragged and breathy, still managed to ring out clear as a bell in the empty church, “God only knows where I’d be without him.”

Hannibal felt his hand reach out to grasp the bars on the window, to reach for Will, and simultaneously was aware his arm was doing nothing of the kind. Arrested momentum, he thought. For the first time, he lacked the will to carry out his desires and the stalling was causing confusion. If he could not resolve the confusion soon, he feared what it would do to him.

But Will brought clarity. Hannibal shook off the confusion easily, eyes fixed on Will’s trembling, hunched form, and watched him at last remove those glasses. Whatever Will had been protecting himself from, he no longer needed that protection. Hannibal wondered what trial by fire had existed in his mind. He was glad Will passed.

Will’s voice dropped to a murmur, a low vibration too far away for Hannibal to clearly make out. Not that he needed to hear it. He knew who Will was talking to. He could see her, bright as day, standing next to Will like a guardian angel. It was good to see Abigail again. She would not come to him. Her last act had been obedience. Perhaps it was fitting her afterlife could refuse him so utterly. But he saw her now, hovering over Will. His heartbreak redoubled.

Not once did Will look up. Not once, in the whole time, did Will even glance in his direction. Hannibal couldn’t say if he was glad of it or not. On some level, he was glad to watch Will unobserved and know no part of what he saw was an act given for his benefit. On another hand, who was to say what Will spotting him might have done.

Actually… that might still be an option. Hannibal’s gaze finally tore from Will and fell down to the catacombs, the clammy gates of death itself. The detective would be back soon; he would want to use Will to catch him. Every second he stayed here, he risked discovery. The thought of Will not alone finding him like this, too open, too vulnerable, filled him with dread nearing panic. Will finding him was one thing, half-yearned for, half-rejected, but witnesses were unacceptable. This, all of this, was for Will and Will alone. He would not tolerate interference.

Hannibal slipped into the shadows before Will could take notice of any movement. He followed them down, down into the ghastly, breathing halls. He would wait there for Will. And Will would come, Will would find him, he knew it. And in the dark, no one could be sure what they saw.  Obscured, he stood a better chance of surviving. Without even seeing him, Will’s presence stripped him to his core. He shuddered to think what a mutual connection would do.


	2. Chapter 2

The thick, still air vibrated with tension, like a woven cloth, the strings of which all lead back to Hannibal. He could feel each one pull and give as Will sought through the maze, leaving trails of scent behind him, as vivid and strong as if they were visible. Will seemed almost too eager to find him, like there was a terrible force driving him. There was no hesitation, no guardedness. He was almost reckless with desire. It thrilled Hannibal. He could smell near-desperation from that drive in Will that would allow him to do anything.

His scent sent Hannibal trembling, gripping the wall for support. Unsettled, he realized there was fear tempering his anticipation. Just what he was afraid of he couldn’t say; Will was looking for him, Will _wanted_ to see him, he had no reason to fear rejection. Still, the vulnerability, the nakedness… he had let Will see him before. He couldn’t break from that memory, not yet.

In truth, he was sure Will’s eyes on him would disintegrate him into ash and then to nothing. Will did not know how fierce and violent was his power over him. But he would know soon.

Hannibal regulated his breathing, refusing to be overcome by Will’s smell, heady though it was. He kept his breaths silent and steady, disturbing the lifeless air with no movement.

Will walked carefully, aware of his cacophony in the halls of the dead. Hannibal was grateful that Will’s nose was not as sensitive as his. He passed so near at times, it sorely tempted him to reach out, snag on Will’s coat or loop just one finger through a curl. He did not, but only by curling his fingers into the limestone, slick under his hands with sweat, slicing his palms where his resistance gave and his skin slipped against that last barrier. The pain did less to strengthen his resolve than he hoped.

Will was so close now. He would find him, soon. Too soon. Hannibal’s heart seized in panic, the trepidation overtaking him momentarily. He slid from one shadow to another, his feet skidding against the sand on the roughhewn walkway. Will heard, stopped, searched for the source of the sound in the deceptive dark.

“Hannibal?”

The question imprinted on the air, lingering like smoke. Hannibal kept walking. No shadows black enough to hide him, none yet.

Will started again, more sure this time, more hurried, sensing he would lose Hannibal if he didn’t find him fast enough. The thought panged in Hannibal’s heart: how badly Will wanted to see him, how fervently he was searching. How badly _he_ wanted to see Will. If only he thought better of his chances for surviving this…

A third set of footsteps joined in, these deliberate, incautious, not the swift foot of the pursuer nor the soft step of the pursued. This was a methodical searcher, trusting to process of elimination, clearing each pathway and not thinking to look over his shoulder. A policeman, obviously, probably that detective from earlier, the one so desperate to catch him. Hannibal regretted not having the foresight to deal with him in his youth. But, he had no doubt, the detective’s time had come due and, after all, there was pleasure to be had in correcting a mistake.

But the fact that he had stumbled into their reunion… that complicated things. Hannibal hoped the detective did not find his quarry. If he did, any meeting with Will would have to be deferred. Will wanted to find him, but he doubted Will was ready for anything more. This was not the time. This was not the place. He would hate the detective, unforgivingly, if he made him sacrifice his chance with Will. A true pity, the detective might have deserved mercy otherwise.

Hannibal exhaled, soundlessly, but somehow his breath drew Will to him. As if Will could hear or smell or, by some ineffable means, _feel_ him. One step, two, three… nearly on him, nearly there, and now Hannibal’s heart beat frantically, but with no pull to be gone. If Will saw him… then he saw him. He would let it happen. He was ready now.

Crunch. Scrape. Crunch crunch crunch.

Distracted by the wretched police office, Will moved away, now knowing they were not alone. Hannibal sniffed, resolved that, should the man come close enough, he’d snap his neck and be done with it. Woe to the unwary and unwise.

“Signor Graham,” the officer called out, regrettably too far away for Hannibal to elegantly dispose of him.

While the detective didn’t notice it over his own clattering footsteps, Hannibal cocked his head at the sudden dampening of sound. Will had muffled his footsteps, intent on teaching the rude officer a lesson. His lips thinned in a brief smile, pride warming him.

There was a pause, then a whirl of motion in the air as the police officer turned abruptly, and then, Will’s calm voice, “You shouldn’t be down here alone.”

Hannibal’s smile returned, stronger, pleased with the threat in Will’s words, the brittle disapproval in his tone.

“I am not alone, I’m with you.”

Hannibal winced at the detective’s total disregard. He had no understanding of what Will was capable of. He smiled again, unwilling to suppress it, and even craned his neck eagerly to hear better. Perhaps Will would be willing to make his point more viscerally today.

Will merely spared a breath for amusement and murmured, “You don’t know whose side I’m on.”

The detective paused and when he spoke again, he was warier, “What are you going to do when you find him? Your _Il Mostro_.”

All of Hannibal stilled.

“I’m…” Will hesitated, barely audible, painfully aware of who was listening, “I’m curious about that myself.”

Hannibal let himself breathe slowly. He savored the warble in Will’s voice as he said it, the indecision it reflected. Will was just as scared as he was.

“You and I carry the dead with us, Signor Graham. We both need to unburden.”

Hannibal’s desire to kill the man was growing with every wasted breath. This was not about him; this was not about him at all. He did not belong here.

“Why don’t you carry your dead back to the chapel?” The threat was back in Will’s voice, like an icy plummet in temperature, “Before you count yourself among them.” Internally, Hannibal purred with approval. It was not a permanent solution, but it had elegance.

The detective finally felt the reality of this meeting. “You are already dead, aren’t you?” he sneered.

Will made no reply, save, “ _Buona notte, commendatore._ ”

The detective made his way out, his disruptive scent following him, growing fainter and fainter until at last Will’s sweet, fiery determination was all that remained. Hannibal moved instantly, steadying his heart with the regular motion of his feet, readying himself for encountering Will. He would not be caught passively, like a hare in a trap. They would catch each other.

He deliberately did not listen to Will’s footsteps, wanting to catch him by chance with no preparation and no plan. He worried they might truly kill each other if given half a chance.

Hannibal crossed the threshold between two torches, darting from one shadow to another, just as, at the opposite end of the hall, Will stepped through the ring of light. Hannibal’s heel came down with a resounding smack and Will came up short, jerked towards the sound, towards Hannibal.

They both stood frozen, eyes wide, mouths parted. Hannibal let the image of Will flood through him, saturate his mind. He took in his lined coat, his clean jeans, his week-old scruff, his glossy, healthy curls. He looked well. Very well. Grief had not withered him. It had hardened him. He was even more beautiful than before.

Hannibal couldn’t bear it. One breath. Two. That was enough. He dropped his head, eyes full of Will, and sunk back into the shadows.

“Hannibal!” Will called for him, desperation twisting his voice into a hook, spearing through Hannibal’s cheek, hauling him back into Will’s waiting net. He wanted to flee, but his legs wouldn’t move. Will only had to dart a few steps forward and he had him, grabbed his hand, whirled, and he pressed Hannibal against the carven wall until he faced him. Will looked up at the grim outline of his face, just illuminated in the flicker of the fire, full of confusion, relief, surprise. He held Hannibal fiercely, squeezing his arms harder than he meant to, as if afraid Hannibal would disappear the second he let go.

Will’s chest heaved, one long, ecstatic breath blowing over Hannibal and he swallowed, a shiver running through him. Will held him so tightly he couldn’t miss it. A new emotion was growing, spreading over his face as Hannibal watched, something close to exultation, to delight. Hannibal’s chest thudded, pounding like an earthquake. He made no sound, made no attempt to speak. Words fled from him. All that existed for him was Will’s hands, gripping him wrenchingly hard, and Will’s lips, parting, as if to smile, and Will’s eyes, glittering brighter than the firelight, and Will, Will, Will.

Will’s tongue reflexively wet his parted lips, still staring up at Hannibal, into his eyes, pinning him hard and fast with everything he had. Hannibal didn’t even think to struggle, couldn’t have if he wanted to. Not that he found Will’s deathlike grip on him uncomfortable, quite the contrary; it was like he had been numb these past weeks and this was the first thing that felt real.

One of them should speak, one of them had to be the first to say something. They had each gone to so much trouble to be here, the least they could do was explain themselves to each other. And yet… words still failed Hannibal. He waited, helplessly, for Will to say what he came here to say, every second of silence grinding away what little remained of his composure.

Yet, Will did not speak. His chin tilted slightly, as if he had swallowed too hard and forgot the action left his chin tilted away from his throat, up towards Hannibal. The motion, however slight, pulled another shudder and sigh out of Hannibal. He could not quite believe Will was so close to him, would voluntarily present himself like this, like he almost… Will ended the hesitation, taking Hannibal by the collar of his leather jacket and pulling him down until their mouths met, until at last Will could fill those open lips with his own.

Will kissed him like he had all the time in the world. Slow and soft, nothing like Hannibal expected, no resentment, no anger. There was no harsh, bitter aftertaste that would tell how Will hated him. Will kissed him knowing how vulnerable he was, knowing what he needed, and Will gave it him, freely. This kiss tasted like forgiveness.

Hannibal fumbled. Forgiveness was not something he knew how to answer. Anger, betrayal, even humble frustration, these feelings he knew how to combat and turn to his advantage. Forgiveness was as foreign to him as guilt and remorse. Both things he had felt in crushing depth these past weeks. He was yet struggling with how to act on them, so bleak was their outlook, so heavy their presence.

He shirked back, nearly pulling out of the kiss, trying to duck his head away. Will was dogged, however, and would not let him out of it. When Hannibal pulled, Will simply stepped in closer with a sigh, reminding Hannibal there was no escape. Will’s lips slowly coaxed and pushed, kissing up and down the crest of his mouth, not letting up for an instant, but content to let Hannibal respond in his own time.

The uncertainty seeped away with the growing certainty of Will taking its place. His doubts flew every moment Will stayed in front of him, kissing him, oh god, kissing him… Hannibal realized he had hands and fingers and tentatively lifted one to touch Will, feathering at his coat, trying to remember how touch worked, how hands grasped. Will opened his mouth, sighing long and warm, eyes opening just to slits under his eyelashes to take in Hannibal’s stunned, slack face. He slid his hands from Hannibal’s collar, down his leather jacket, and fisted them into the front of it, tugging at Hannibal artlessly, fearlessly, claiming him. Shock bolted down from Hannibal’s cranium to his soles and Will stole his lips again, sucking on the provided lower lip, parted and ready for tasting.

Hannibal’s nerves crackled and the electricity put motion into him once again. He took Will by the waist, to Will’s luxurious arching and preening, and bent his head forward, pressing his lips back against his, pulling and tugging and running the tip of his tongue obsessively against Will’s smooth, soft, perfect lips. Will wriggled and purred and pressed into him, scratching his fingers against the skin-warm leather, trying to feel beneath it and get to him.

Hannibal gulped, overcome. This was not what he expected. He had _ached_ to see Will again, but had never imagined… never dreamed… His hands tightened and he began to shake, even while his lips grew bolder, the keenest need driving him to put his lips on every part of Will.

“Hannibal?” Will broke briefly, concerned by his shaking, still leaning up into Hannibal’s kisses.

“ _Will_ ,” Hannibal rasped over the lump in his throat. He finally embraced Will fully, nearly collapsing on him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and hugging him so tight he could feel Will struggling for breath. He couldn’t manage anything more than that, just clung to Will and breathed, all of his artifice gone. Will could see him for what he was now.

Will pulled back to look at his face, coughing for breath. He saw the disheveled hair, the creases of worry and pain, the sunken stature. Hannibal stared at him, cracked open, eyes over-bright and not knowing how to tell any of the things that were inside him. Will licked and sucked his own lips slowly, red and plump from so much kissing. Even distraught as he was, Hannibal couldn’t fail to be tantalized at the sight. His eyes, on the brink of tears, still flicked to Will’s coy, tender mouth that was being so good to him, even better than he had thought and he had dedicated some time to imagining Will’s mouth.

There was a movement and Hannibal flinched, realizing too late it was just Will’s hand, reaching up to cup his face. “Shhh,” Will murmured, soothing. He brought his hand slowly to Hannibal’s cheek, watching how Hannibal’s face cringed with terror and shame, wet streaks spilling down his cheeks when he rubbed his thumb over his cheekbone. Will leaned up, clucking his tongue gently, and kissed away the hot, salty tears. He licked them off his lips and sometimes did not care if his tongue brushed against Hannibal’s cheek too. Hannibal gulped, still shaking, grip desperate on Will, and tried to stop sobbing, but couldn’t. It was too much, Will being here, Will accepting him, at last, accepting him. He was trembling and he couldn’t help it; Will had broken him so.

Will’s lips, hot and salty and wet, found his mouth again and kissed him hard and this time it was what Hannibal had been expecting. This kiss was very unforgiving; it was a hard, unyielding demand for attention, a match set to a waiting pyre. Hannibal’s arms locked around Will and he gave eagerly to Will, sucking on his lips, devouring him, surprised to find Will’s tongue pushing, insisting on attention. Will would not back down, he wanted everything, absolutely everything Hannibal was going to give him. Hannibal could still feel a tear squeeze from his hot, red eyes, but he didn’t speak. He relaxed his arms and rubbed one hand down his back, found the dip of Will’s spine and pressed him closer, spreading his legs, trying to encompass Will, take all of him, have all of him. In a fleeting panic, he thought he might never have the chance again.

Hannibal grabbed his face, tears still streaming down his cheeks, and pressed his whole being into kissing Will, nearly sucking his lips off his face. Will let him, stroking his face, his neck, his shoulders, trying to calm him down. He slipped away, pulling from Hannibal’s grip with ease, and dropped to his knees before Hannibal could panic. He grinned up at him with abandon, rubbing his hands up the insides of his thighs like he owned them.

“Will?” Hannibal’s eyes flickered in confusion, still wet and panting. His hands grasped at Will, squeezing his shoulders, desperate to have a grasp on him.

Will beamed up at him, sliding his hand up the taught line of his thigh, then his face twisted into a predatory leer as his hand found the hot spot where his thigh connected with his pelvis. His hand squeezed into the heat, cupping and bracing, kneading against that soft, sticky spot just to the side of his zipper, just before the bulge began to show.

Hannibal gurgled, head knocked back against the wall. His body felt soaked with sweat already, his toes curling in his shoes. Will touching him like this; Will’s hand squeezing and caressing and oh god, that tickled…! Hannibal had to bite his tongue as Will’s fingers feathered over his balls.

Will kept one hand kneading at his thigh, making him itch and arch and spread. Will purred, loud enough Hannibal could hear it echoing off the walls. With every ricochet, Hannibal’s legs opened.

“Will, what-?” he tried again, not wanting to presume, not wanting to take advantage. After all that had happened in Baltimore, he hoped Palermo would be different.

“Shhh…” Will murmured, not choosing to explain. He just looked up at him and smiled, coy and perfect. His other hand, the hand Hannibal was working even harder to ignore, rested permanently over his crotch, the heel of his palm pressed exactly where he grinded into it with every twitch and shudder. Hannibal groaned, resisting his jerking hips, restraining his arching back.

Still, his voice would not obey. “Will,” he gasped helplessly, “Will…” His hands dug into his idol, pulsing with need, his fingers releasing only to squeeze again, harder.

Will inhaled deeply and sighed at his name, as if he’d missed it. Hannibal watched him, stunned silent at Will’s pleasure, how obviously Will was enjoying this. He’d known, he’d known for so long that Will would love him, but seeing it… he could not manage to believe in what he already knew.

Heedless, Will unceremoniously unzipped him, digging out his half-hard cock with relish, licking his teeth as he let it hang in the breeze. Hannibal hissed, fever-hot flush creeping into his face. What he must look like, no schoolboy could look more ill-prepared.

Will took no notice. He slapped Hannibal’s cock back and forth just to watch it harden, grow to full size, to Hannibal’s delighted whimpering. His whole body tensed, wanting to thrust upwards into nothing. Will was unraveling him with expert care, stripping him down to pure sensation. Hannibal confessed, under Will, he would unspool himself every time.

Will leaned up until Hannibal’s cock was hovering in front of his face, bobbing and brushing his nose and lips. He gripped Hannibal’s hips tight and buried his face in the sweaty, hot nest half-hidden in his pants. Hannibal hissed, trying to stay quiet, his cock rubbing up against Will’s face, sliding across his cheek. He forced his eyes closed, afraid he’d come in Will’s hair if he consciously considered the visual any longer.

“I can see you now,” Will growled in a low rumble even the bones around them understood, “I can smell you… I can taste you.” He leaned back and flicked his tongue over the tip, no more than a tease.

Hannibal gulped, his breaths wheezing, high and thin, through his nose. His head swam, trying to take in Will’s words, only whimpering in response. What was there for him to say? Will already knew, all of it. Will was just toying with him, pulling at his strings with lazy confidence. But he had not one complaint, as his rigid cock could attest. He panted and struggled to look down at Will, his cock obscuring half his face, but he could still tell Will was leering, eyes glittering up at him. Knowing Hannibal was watching him now, Will grabbed his cock and unapologetically popped him in his mouth.

Hannibal lost control and gasped, sucking in breath like a leaky vacuum. Will’s eyes narrowed, tiny slits of black fire, and he rolled his tongue over the head of his cock. Will’s cheeks hollowed rakishly, sucking at the loose foreskin, rolling it against his tongue. Hannibal slid back against the stones, his legs momentarily giving out from under him. Will reached up to brace his back, pinning him hard up against the wall and lowering his mouth a fraction.

“Nmmm…” Hannibal whimpered, biting his tongue and fighting hard to keep silent. Will, in return, slurped loudly, drawing off his cock and slapping it playfully with his tongue as it bobbed in the air in front of him. He hummed to himself, taking a deep breath, knees spreading below him. Hannibal’s eyes flicked toward the movement, though he daren’t believe Will was aroused by this. The bulge outlined in the firelight didn’t lie. Will’s twitching, fidgeting hips didn’t lie. His smell, stronger, deeper than usual, didn’t lie.

Hannibal gulped, looking away, unable to believe.  Will pulled him into his waiting mouth again and Hannibal’s eyes rolled back into his head. Will was sucking him off and _aroused_ by it. Hannibal’s back arched off the wall, his hips lifting, thrusting into Will’s mouth before he could stop. He winced, drawing back slowly, afraid he’d gone too far, but Will’s hands tightened on his hips, pulling at him. More, he wanted more. Will wanted him to fuck his mouth.

Hannibal squinted his eyes open, tears blurring his vision again. He gripped hard at Will’s shoulders and tentatively lifted his hips. Will’s hands clamped down, his fingers driving into him, and his tongue made a plush, wet bed for his cock to press into. An inelegant gurgle dribbled from Hannibal’s mouth. He didn’t care.

He pulled his hips back, fraction by fraction, then pushed again, smoother this time, faster this time. Spit burst past Will’s lips, shining dewdrops scattered into his beard. “Hnngh,” Hannibal choked down the keening instinct in his throat. But Will snarled and slammed him against the bricks, forcing his mouth down another inch.

“Louder,” Will growled, the word garbled in his full mouth.

Hannibal shook his head, dizzied by the impact. “Wh-what, Will?”

Will sucked unmercifully hard as he drew back, pulling an anguished yelp out of Hannibal. He tugged at his foreskin, slowly pulling his lips back with a long, wet strand of saliva still connecting them. “Louder,” he spat, only one eye catching the light as he glared up at Hannibal. He wanted louder. A shiver ran through Hannibal, the edge of fear catching him off-guard. He hadn’t expected Will to be so performative… so exhibitionist… Exhibitionism required trust. And trust between them was- The thought choked off as Will wrapped his mouth around the base of his cock, slurping his tongue around it. Hannibal moaned, full in his throat, knotting a hand into the nape of Will’s curls before he could think. Will purred and yanked Hannibal’s hand back when he tried to release.

“Ohhh, Will…” Hannibal gasped, mouth dropping open and staying there. A dawning reverence came over him, the old awe mixed with keen surprise that Will would own him like this, like _this_. Surprise that Will unabashedly, unreservedly had sought out the monster who left him bleeding on the floor. That Will repeated the same fatalistic desire back to him. Will wrapped his lips around the head of his cock and did something _terrible_ with his lips and Hannibal’s foreskin. Hannibal jerked, trembling, his hold on Will tightening.

One of Will’s hands snuck between his legs, clutching at hard, pent-up shadows. Hannibal watched his hand knead, knuckles shining white with tension. A zipper scritched opened and Hannibal abruptly shoved into Will’s mouth. Will choked and, for a moment, Hannibal snapped away from the action of Will’s hand back to his face. His cock bulged in Will’s cheek as Will fought to breathe, but his eyes were blown black and wide. Will didn’t want to stop.

Hannibal drew back, letting him catch his breath, moved to cup his jaw but Will smacked his hand away. One-handed, Will pressed him back against the wall, digging his nails into his hip until it stung, and pressed back down on Hannibal’s cock. Hannibal let his hand drop, giving in to Will. His hips rolled regularly against his mouth, pressed prone against the wall, at Will’s mercy. His hands clawed at Will’s curls, digging and scraping, as he watched Will’s fist pump up and down in time with his mouth.

“Will… Will…!” he whimpered, a desperate, high-pitched strangle coming out as a familiar heady buzz took over. He was too close now. Will sucked harder with a slick, wet sound punctuating his strokes. The world spun for Hannibal. Surely someone heard. Surely someone knew and they would be caught any second. And it was precisely this danger that Will wanted. He groaned, deep, down to his toes, and braced Will’s head, fucking Will’s mouth as he lost control. Will yelped, his hand jerking sporadically, beautiful shudders racking him as he came down the front of his pants.

But no one came. No one found them. No one had heard. Here, among the dead things and the memories, only the skeletons bearing witness, they made love. They created life together.  

Hannibal almost couldn’t bear to stop, even as his come dribbled over Will’s lips and spattered across his cheek, even overstimulated as he was, he kept rocking into Will’s mouth, tenderly, tenderly.

Will pressed his clean hand against his pelvis, slowly pushing him back. He looked up at Hannibal, eyes opened, and thumbed the come off his cheek, quickly cleaning it with a few swipes of his tongue. Will stood again, bracing against Hannibal for support, both their flies still open, dripping cocks hanging in the chilly, morbid air.

“We’d better return to the surface.” Will’s voice tumbled out like a rockslide, his throat and voice wrecked.

Hannibal cocked his head, still panting, “They’ll know.” His eyes darted quickly over Will, a sudden, freezing question appearing in his mind.

Will faced him, ivory teeth grinning wide, “I know.”


End file.
